


Good Morning, Chicago

by ronans



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, News anchors, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:12:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3153515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronans/pseuds/ronans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your job involves not being able to swear and “fuck”’s, like, 90% of your vocabulary, there’s evidently going to be a slight problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Morning, Chicago

**Author's Note:**

> So how about that first episode, huh? Here's a fic completely unrelated to it...

Mickey always finds himself shuffling the blank papers around on the desk he’s sat behind before they’re set to go live. The first time he’d done it he’d felt a weird sort of disappointment that the papers literally had nothing written on them.

He’s sat next to Ian Gallagher who looks sharp as always in his dark suit, hair longer than Mickey’s but styled nicely on his head. There’s always the idle conversation between them before they start rolling, and today’s no different. Mickey’s not even quite sure what the conversation had started with, but somehow they’ve ended up here.

‘I honestly couldn’t fuckin’ do it. You try telling my bitch of a sister to stop camping out on the couch. She carries a goddamn baton with her at all times.‘

‘Mickey, I swear to god-‘

‘Keep your fuckin’ wig on, Gallagher, she’s not gonna kill-’

Both Mickey and Ian’s eyes widen as they hear a deliberate cough and simultaneously look at the cue screen because it’s not exactly rolling the morning announcements they're supposed to be making. Instead, they've been replaced with bright green capitals: MILKOVICH THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING – PAY ATTENTION, WE’RE ON AIR, JACKASS.

‘Aw shit.’ Mickey winces and corrects himself, ‘I mean, I apologise… Jesus. Sorry, America.’

Ian puts his head in his hands. ‘Maybe being a news anchor wasn't the best career choice, Mickey,’ he sighs under his breath as he straightens up, instantly plastering a dazzling grin on his face. Mickey gulps and clears his throat, trying to imitate Ian’s smile but they all know Ian’s the favourite and always will be no matter how happy and welcoming Mickey tries to make himself appear. Fucking good looking ginger asshole. ‘Good morning, Chicago. You're watching the 8AM announcements with me, Ian Gallagher...’

There’s a stupidly long pause before Mickey remembers how to do his fucking job. ‘Ah, yeah, and me Mickey Milkovich.’ He _barely_ restrains himself from adding a ‘Fucking’ before his surname, but he does so that’s a plus.

There’s a vein sticking out of Ian’s neck he’s that stressed, because being on live TV is stressful anyway without having your idiot of a co-host fucking everything else up. Ian’s face suddenly becomes serious as he starts to read out the text on the screen.

‘Our top story involves the disappearance of a local child Casey Casden who was allegedly abducted from his home just over two days ago.’

Mickey’s at least somewhat professional in his job and so takes over reading out the story when he’s supposed to; he’s not completely incompetent. ‘At the time of the disappearance he was celebrating his little sister’s birthday, their parents having thrown a themed costume garden party in their front yard. Little Casey was said to be wearing a Superman outfit with a red cape. There haven’t been any reported sightings of the boy since he originally went missing, so If you have any information at all, please report it to the police department.’

Ian chimes in with a final comment on the particular topic, turning his imploring puppy dogs eyes up to eleven as he stares into the camera like it’ll suddenly make new details on the case appear. Actually, looking at the guy now, Mickey wouldn’t bet against it. ‘Honestly, any information at all will be of amazing help to the police force who are currently investigating the disappearance. We want Casey home as soon as possible.’

Mickey manages to suppress an eye roll by rearranging the stack of papers in front of him to occupy himself, glancing back up at the prompt screen and taking a deep breath.

They manage to struggle through the rest of the stories before closing off and handing over to the weather. Mickey can actually feel his body sag as he lets out a relieved exhale that it’s finally over, but he knows he’s in shit as soon as he’s properly off screen.

Sam, their balding, potbellied dick of a boss, looks absolutely fucking pissed as they both amble towards the crew as soon as the cameras are shut off, Mickey considerably more nervous than Ian.

He starts talking straight away. ‘Milkovich, I’m serious, this is your last goddamn warning or I'm demoting you. God knows I've given you enough chances.’ Sam’s eyes are narrowed as he speaks and he punctuates his words with jabs of his pudgy index finger in Mickey’s direction.

‘Chicago don't give give a fuck if I swear. Really, how many complaints you gettin’?’ Mickey plays it all off nonchalantly, raising his eyebrows. He can see Ian turn away, obviously sighting the oncoming explosion. There’s a few beats of silence before Sam _completely fucking lets rip with the volume_.

‘Even _one_ complaint is too many, Mickey! Jesus Christ, son, you're reading out the breakfast announcements, this isn't a damn 2AM broadcast where we can maybe let the language slide every now and then because no one really gives a rat’s ass about it, this is daytime TV!’

‘People relate to people on TV who act like them… the- the same as them, right?’ Micky tries to argue but Sam’s face just grows redder.

‘ _Not_ when they’re watching the morning news over breakfast before school with their pre-adolescent _children_.’

Mickey purses his lips then because… okay, so the guy has a point. Whatever, it’s not like the kids won’t have heard any of that shit before, especially in the goddamn South Side.

Ian, fucking finally, decides to step in and defend Mickey. ‘Mr Johnson, he’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’ Oh right because _that_ sounded fucking convincing. Ian to the fucking rescue.

And, as Mickey expected, Sam really doesn’t look convinced. ‘You can’t guarantee _shit_ for him, Gallagher.’

Without another word, Sam just storms off back to his office. Ian and Mickey stand still in their places, a little stunned, before Ian inclines his head towards the dressing rooms. Mickey nods back and follows the taller man towards the tiny room that has _Mickey Milkovich_ penciled in on a pathetic peeling white sticker on the door. He’s living the fucking high life, obviously.

‘Fuck that guy fucking _hates_ me,’ Mickey grumbles a soon as he hears the click of the door shutting behind them.

‘If he truly hated you he’d have fired you by now, Mick,’ Ian says, loosening his tie and running a hand through his fire coloured slicked back hair. Mickey likes it a little more ruffled, he’s gotta admit.

Mickey rubs at his eyes and makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat. ‘I need a fuckin’ smoke.’

‘Can’t it wait?’ Ian presses Mickey up against the wall suddenly and hovers just above the shorter man’s lips, returning to the problem. ‘Why don't you save that kinda cursing for off the air, huh?’

‘Guess I can’t fuckin’ help myself, Gallagher,’ Mickey groans (yeah, okay, he only sounds like that because Ian’s finally slammed his lips onto Mickey’s so it’s kind of hard _not_ to groan his words).

‘Hmm, I can’t tell if I like it or not,’ Ian mumbles into Mickey’s mouth, pulling away at the end of his sentence which was pretty impractical, really. And also upsetting because Mickey’s definitely grown to love kissing Ian and kind of hates it when they stop.

‘Like _what_ or not?’ Mickey huffs impatiently, glaring up at a smirking Ian.

Ian chuckles quietly and brushes some of Mickey’s hair out of his face. It’s an affectionate action but Ian’s still got this predatory glint in his eyes. ‘Swearing on the news in front of the whole of Chicago.’

‘Not everybody watches the fucking news; it’s boring as shit. You seen our ratings?' It’s kind of hard to talk without sounding breathy as hell when you’ve got Ian Gallagher suddenly latched onto your neck.

‘Still gets you in trouble, though,’ Ian murmurs, his breath tickling Mickey’s skin.

His nails are probably hurting Ian they’re digging into his waist so hard. ‘Mr fucking Johnson can shove his high and fucking mighty opinions up his ass.’

Ian snickers and, annoyingly, ceases kissing Mickey’s neck and steps back, breaking the contact between their bodies and sliding a hand down Mickey’s side to rest on his hip. Ian stares at Mickey with a contented smile which, for fuck’s sake, still makes Mickey feel fuzzy inside and damn fucking happy, like he can forget everything else. Ian eventually breathes in deeply and breaks the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

‘I gotta go meet Debbie for coffee in-‘ Ian quickly checks his watch, his eyebrows jumping and his lips pursing, ‘-fifteen minutes. Shit. I’ll see you at home in a couple hours, yeah?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Mickey replies after Ian’s planted a chaste kiss of his lips, grinning as he hurriedly leaves the room.

‘Mandy’s gonna kill you for shit talking about her on television!’ Ian calls just before he’s completely out of the door.

‘Fuck!’ Mickey yells loud enough for Ian to hear. The other man’s laughter echoes and then fades as he strides through the studio.

The stress of Mickey’s job and how unsuited he is for being in front of the camera seems infinitely more bearable when he has Ian next to him… and then having Ian to come home to afterwards. They’ve become pretty domestic and attached to each other and he can see how some people would get sick of it, but, to Mickey, it’s perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Necessary cheesy ending  
> I hope this was okay :)


End file.
